(De)touring
by ChibiKanakoNyu
Summary: Do you know the feeling when someone steps into the room and the whole atmosphere changes? Zoro felt that on his own skin, though not entirely as he had planned. Then again, nothing was really planned about his visit to France... - ZoSan Secret Valentine fic for little-lost-swordsies!


**(De)touring**

**.xXx.**

There it was again. That tiny creak in the hinges paired up with the click of the doorhandle. A small noise like that could have easily been drowned out by the busy hustle-bustle in the restaurant. And perhaps it really was for everyone within. Except for Roronoa Zoro.

No, not even fifty people chattering, a hundred chairs scraping along the floor, a thousand plates clanging down on white cloth covered tables, or a million little teaspoons clinking against the rims of just as many porcelain cups could have concealed the fact that yet another person has entered the establishment. After hours of waiting, Zoro's ears had been fine-tuned to it.

He had seated himself to the right of the door, at one of the four tables arranged there; four rectangles that made up the four peaks of a single big one. To the left of the main entrance was only a reception desk, and there were more and larger tables to be occupied straight ahead, but these four had a much better view on the arrivals and departures of guests. Actually, the one with the best view on the door happened to be the table for two in the cozy far right corner. Which, of course, had been reserved. Zoro had to resort to the one next to it, the second table along the pathway further inside.

The elegant red marble floors, cream-coloured curtains, mahogany wall coverings and archways and the finishing touch of smooth, soft jazz were nearly not enough to melt Zoro himself into the calm and sophisticated atmosphere of the place. On the contrary, it was starting to get on his nerves. The biggest and most illegal rave party was a heated game in a pensioners' bingo club compared to the tension in his head.

His coffee was cold and almost all gone, but he had to stay sharp. Any second… Anyone stepping in through that door…

Zoro regarded his newest suspect carefully. The man handing his coat to the receptionist was tall and slim of build, with a short fall of blond hair he painstakingly adjusted back in place after his scarf was off his neck. Judging from the way he carried his body weight, he had the posture of a fighter, the green haired man observed. The blond stood on a pair of long, strong legs, going by what could be made out from beneath his black suit through his small, excited fidgets. However, his arms seemed less toned, his hands not quite as coarse from training.

No. He didn't look like a swordsman, either. The green-hair who was one, on the other hand, reached out to down the last of his coffee with a sigh.

In the beginning, Zoro had been convinced that getting on the wrong ship had been a fortunate accident. Instead of arriving in Sydney to watch his friend Soul King Brook perform, along with Luffy and Ace coming to attend straight from Brazil, he somehow ended up in Paris, alone. His meagre English knowledge would probably have been enough to get by in Sydney, but not among this lot of Frenchies…

That witch Nami was regrettably right. Her suggesting (well, ordering, rather) everyone to meet up one week before the concert date gave Zoro some time to figure out how the hell to get to Australia now, at least. He would have to ask Luffy if he happened to have any friends in France; or 'nakama', with the bouncy goofball's favourite Japanese word. Sometimes that guy seemed to know the whole world...

So how was that fortunate, exactly? Well, Zoro's overall luck in France had turned for the better by overhearing some really shady-looking tourists mentioning the name 'Dracule Mihawk'. That, and the fact that the world's greatest swordsman frequented this very restaurant. Maybe it had been fate that got him los– uh, to take a detour.

However, after two days of nothing, Zoro's third day waiting based on a dubious piece of info wasn't looking too fruitful. And yet he resolved to stay. Three was his lucky number.

Since he had no idea how the (still) unbeaten master swordsman actually looked like, Zoro subjected himself to rigorous eye-training while looking everyone up and down who came in. Hell, he wasn't even sure Mihawk was a 'he'. But so far, his best bet was the tall blond that was making his way past his table, to the reserved one Zoro had had his eyes on first. Well, he didn't sit far... It wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on him, just in case.

One mellow jazz song followed the other. Zoro had lost count hours ago how many times the playlist had gone on repeat, how many times the waiters changed shifts… Or how many times the receptionist shot him suspicious looks, while whispering to a stocky old man with a tremendous braided moustache, who could have been the owner of the place. Maybe they figured that he didn't carry a saxophone in the lengthy black bag by the wall beside him. Well, as long as they didn't ask him to play…

Dammit, maybe they should have just gone ahead and done that. Even hacking the table into three sounded more interesting than just sitting around behind it.

As if to answer his 'plea', a waft of stomach-churning scent shot past, almost rendering Zoro to fall into a much more intriguing position under the table. The blond from the corner-table had decided to go powder his nose again, and by that he probably meant pouring a considerable amount of cologne onto himself, to cover the stench of nervous sweat and cigarette smoke he produced outside every thirty minutes or so. Damn, he must have brought the whole bottle with him. Or two. Or two different kinds. As well as two packs of cigarettes.

The guy in the suit sat back down at his reserved table. Zoro followed his motions long enough to see that the subtle, but rather irritating knocking noises came from the man's fingers, drumming restlessly on the table surface. The guy would have probably sunk back into his waiting stance completely, if not for the waitress walking over to him. That idiot cooed to her as if she had been the one he had been waiting for all this time, but as soon as the woman replaced his burnt-out tea light with a new one and left, rather hastily, their corner of the restaurant fell back onto the low volume of the jazz tunes in the background.

The small candlelight must have raised the blond's spirits. He started on his quiet humming again; still utterly sappy, but definitely a lot more shaky than two hours ago…

Two whole hours. Or had it been three already? The wine bottle was empty on the corner table.

The poor devil was so obviously being stood up. Zoro could tell – he who had been told was almost as romantic as an overripe head of cabbage. And yet there that idiot sat, squirming and fidgeting in his suit like a teenager before prom night. Even the smell oozing off him fit the bill of a boys' dorm room before the big dance, with just the right amount of nose-twister cologne and desperation. The sight of him appeared so pathetic to Zoro that he almost felt sorry for the guy.

There was a sudden thud of impact as the blond's palms hit the table, and he whirled his head in Zoro's direction. What the hell…

Wait. No, that wasn't it. The man wasn't looking towards him, but the door, and sighed at the old lady rushing inside. But how did-? He should have heard the door, too…! _Shit._ This damn sorry bastard was so pitiful that is was actually _distracting! _

However, when Zoro turned his gaze back from the main entrance, the blond's attention was clearly all his this time. The green-hair was met with a pair of eyes that could have cleaved his head in two. Eye-sword style…? The man's eyes were blue, as far as the candle light allowed, but also slightly red around the edges. If his nose had flared in addition, the swordsman would have mistaken him for some kind of wacky variety of bull…

The _'tch'_ sound the guy spat out was close enough, though, as he threw his back against his chair. Oh, so now _he's_ pissed?

Grumbling to himself, Zoro went back to staring down the front entrance and everyone passing through. The finger-drumming was soon back in his ears from his left. No, that bastard will not win.

Steeling himself, the swordsman kept looking; one hat taken off, one high-heeled shoe caught in the carpet, one child running ahead amongst the tables… Overpolished dress shoes tapping on the stone floor, a piece of a toothpick wrapper twirling down a long leg, a tie that was too tight in one minute and too loose in the next under tense fingers, a toothpick moving erratically, held between clenched teeth… Zoro only noticed that the blond in the corner had been humming again when the guy stopped to stare at him. Stare _back_ at him. And then there was that click at the front door, and Zoro saw the blond's disappointed face earlier than the non-swordsman-looking person stepping in. Dammit, not again!

There was another noise from his left at that. A cough? No, a snicker…

That prissy monkeysuit bastard was looking at him again, and he was _fucking snickering,_ as if he had just discovered that he could snort gold out of his goddamn nose. Zoro's hand twitched towards the sword-bag beside him, but he thought better of it. If he'd cut the blond and his damn reserved table in three, he'd be thrown out for sure, and then the asshole – albeit a dead one – would win. No, he needed to beat him in his own ridiculous game. Oh, he'll show _him…_

Another hour passed. Or maybe two; the blond bastard's candle has been replaced a second time. The waitress coming and leaving earned Zoro two wins, to the guy's great dismay, but it still wasn't enough of a lead to allow himself a bathroom break. Damn, the coffee wanted out so bad, but that bastard would wave that damn kerchief of his in front of his nose with a dozen notches more as soon as he returned, no matter how fast he ran. Yes, that blond bastard noted dow the wins, and probably cheated, damn him! But the asshole had had a whole bottle of wine. Zoro would endure until the blond's weak-ass bladder gave in, and then–

"Monsieur?"

The waitress jumped a little when Zoro transferred his glare from the sissy in the corner onto her. She began to speak again after a second, clutching her hands anxiously. The green haired man was unsure what to do, aside from squinting at her in confusion. That seemed to scare her more, somehow. The heck was she saying?

The woman kept mumbling, gesticulating, raising her voice in question. She was speaking so damn fast, though, that it prolonged Zoro's shock from being dragged out of the competitive spirit. He was just about to resort to his small English vocabulary, when there was a slap at the neighbouring desk, and then another one on his own._ Oh fuck no…_

"_Qu'est-ce que vous foutez espèce de raclure de bidet ?!"*_ The blond bastard spat at him in the same curly French the woman failed to make herself be understood in. Is he an idiot?

Zoro was even more baffled by how the guy's tone changed from stingy to syrupy while talking to the waitress. He even took her hand in his while he was gurgling slimy French-y nonsense, but went right back to barking whenever he glanced over at him in his incoherent explanations.

Then he let the waitress' hand go and paused. Good, Zoro thought, it was over, whatever that was. However, the monkeysuit bastard pulled out the chair in opposite and sat down. _Huh?_ Looking to his side, Zoro noted that the girl was still at their table, silent. The swordsman finally felt like it was his turn again, so he reached for what he thought was the drinks menu, and poked his finger at the pictogram of a pint of beer.

"One beer. Please," he uttered in English.

The woman's reaction was unexpected. Instead of taking the order she probably came for, she huffed, turned around and stormed off. The blond across from him yelled "two" in English after her, and Zoro was sure he didn't want to know what she replied back. He didn't have time to contemplate it, either. The guy was already yelling at him in French again:

"_Mais qu'est-ce qui ne tourne pas rond chez vous ?! Vous ne pouvez même pas faire un effort pour commander et restez assis comme un tas de merde pendant que la pauvre fille s'arrache les cheveux pour vous. Pour couronner le tout, quand je me sors les doigts pour commander pour vous, vous n'êtes toujours pas content ? Un petit „oh merci Sanji, c'est très gentil de ta part" aurait été sympa, mais même ça vous vous en branlez !"**_

"Sanji…?"

Zoro spoke without really thinking. Either the guy said something about three o'clock in Japanese, or his brain was just so fed up with a language he didn't understand that he hallucinated something coherent.

Well, at least it served to shut the guy up, if nothing else.

"Uh..." His curly eyebrow raised (another hallucination?), the blond was staring at him wide-eyed, as if he had been the one imagining things.

"Sanji," Zoro repeated. When he instinctively pointed at his left wrist where a watch could have been and said, "three," the guy took up his bull-looks again with heavy nose-wrinkling, and the swordsman just knew he would start screaming like a distressed cheetah again.

"What the hell, you shitty asshole?!" However, the last thing Zoro expected was for him do it in Japanese. Good Japanese at that. "Are you fucking with me right now?!"

"Says who! Sitting your ass down at my table and then yapping on and on when you knew I didn't understand!" He couldn't help it. The swordsman's words came automatically.

"Well, _excuse me!"_ The guy screeched back even louder, and the whole restaurant around them fell silent. Wow, what a dumbass. "For not knowing if you didn't get it, were deaf or just plain fucking stupid! Your ugly mug doesn't exactly help me decide!" Okay, dumbass didn't cut it.

"Oh, so the best way to find out is yelling my head off like there was a cactus in your asshole?!"

"That's fucking IT!" The guy sprang up and slammed his knuckles down onto the table. "I'm gonna kick your shitty ass!"

"You just try, you curly bastard!" Zoro shot up from his seat as well.

They must have stood there for a good two minutes. The waitress returning with their beers put an end to the staring contest, but it was only when she placed their glasses on the table rather ungently that they snapped out of it.

"Oh. Thanks," they both said at the same time. In Japanese.

The waitress huffed and left again, while the blond bastard positively looked so angry he might have cried. Zoro entertained the thought of pushing him a bit further…

However, in the end, the swordsman sat back down, reaching for his beer. Taking a good gulp, he was licking foam from his lips when there was a disgruntled scoff, and the guy in opposite plopped down again, too.

"So who the hell are you?"

Zoro looked up from the gulp he was about to take. The guy wants to _talk_ now?

"I'm Sanji," the blond sighed impatiently. "So who are you, dumbfuck?"

"Zoro. Roronoa Zoro. You shithead," he added for good measure. He remembered too late that the guy, Sanji, might start screaming again, but luckily or not, all he got back was an amused snort. It was kind of disappointing, actually…

"Fucking priceless," Sanji snickered, and couldn't stop for a long time, until he picked up his own glass and grinned into it.

"Shut up, three-four-five o'clock."

"Wow, weak," the bastard mocked, drank generously of his beer, then continued. "So who put you in a mold infection quarantine box, loaded you on a ship to hell, but dropped you off here because you stank so bad? Or did you really come sightseeing and restaurant-defiling to France without speaking anything but Japanese?"

Damn, this guy talked a lot. It would have been much better to listen to him struggle and stumble on his words while trying to insult him, but Sanji might have shared origins with him. It probably was Zoro's unlucky day, after all.

"I was on my way to Sydney," Zoro admitted. It was the beer's fault for making him sleepy, and not because he couldn't think of a comeback. Not at all. "But I, uh..."

"Got so fucking lost it's almost an art form?"

"Took a _detour,"_ the green-hair growled.

"Suuure," that Sanji asshole rolled his eyes – or, well, the one not hidden by his bangs that reminded the swordsman of a banana peel –, then he leaned his elbow down on the table and rested his grinning stupid face on top of his palm in a way that made Zoro want to hurl his beer right back. "Do you want me to order a cake for you, too? One that says, 'don't cry, little lost Marimo child?'" Then the blond dropped his chin from his hand and outright giggled at his own stupid joke. Zoro still felt like coughing his beer back up. Preferably in between the asshole's eyes, though.

"Yeah, sure." Zoro downed the last of his beer all the same. "But only if you bake all your love into it."

"So you want brown cake, then?" Sanji raised his ridiculous eyebrow, guffawing.

"No, red. Or whatever colour your slimy heart is."

"Okay, so," the guy in the suit snickered into his empty glass uncontrollably. What a lightweight. "I can't decide right now if you're just a disgusting asshole or you're trying to be romantic."

"Definitely sticking with disgusting," Zoro replied sternly, but a small snort still escaped him. Damn, he should have eaten something in the past couple days; a single glass of beer was making this bastard seem funny.

They were both laughing at the stupid face the other one had while laughing, like two school boys drunk on their very first beer. Guess they skipped prom night.

"Sydney, huh..." Sanji was playing with his empty glass on the table. "Isn't there some kind of big rock star there right now, giving concert?"

"Yeah, Soul King Brook. He's a friend."

"Seriously?!" Zoro was pleased by that dumbfounded reaction. However, he didn't anticipate the actual reason. "Yours, too?"

"Huh?" He couldn't mean…

"I know this guy who keeps talking about him all the time, how he's his 'nakama' and musician..."

"Luffy?" Zoro thought his eyes might pop out of his head. "You know Luffy?" Then again, why so surprised? The swordsman just _knew_ the dude had a friend everywhe-

"Oh god, I knew it!" Sanji cut off his line of thought. "It's just like Luffy to befriend a guy as stupid as you are. I mean, you're a directionally challenged natural treasure, he wouldn't pass up on that!"

"Why you-!"

"So are you still going?" The curly-brow pointed at him with his glass. "To Sydney?"

"Yeah." He would, if he only knew how...

"I'm going, too, you know," Sanji spoke again, grinning.

"What, rea-"

"But I'm not taking you," the blond grimaced at him, sticking his tongue out. "Tough luck, shitty Marimo."

"You goddamn bastard, I'm gonna cut you into bloody pieces!" The glass might or might not have cracked in Zoro's hand. The fucker had the gall to…! As if Zoro would ever ask this asshole for help!

"Well, then I _really_ can't take you, can I?" Oh, where was that fucking sword-bag… "Though, if you beat me in a hundred years – which you can't –, I just might be nice enough to make you some space in my suitcase. Who knows?" The prissy batard shrugged. What if he suddenly didn't have arms to do that anymore…?

"You wanna fight?" Zoro kicked his chair back and stood. "Then fight me, you curly bastard! If you dare!"

"Oh yeah, mold-head? Have it your way! Meet me outside!"

With that, that asshole Sanji took his wallet out of his pocket, slapped a few Euros onto the table next to his glass, then stormed out the front door into the February evening in just his suit. The receptionist called something after him, but it seemed to interest the blond as much as Zoro as he followed, his bag in hand.

All the sword masters and all the dates had to stand in line. There was a fight in the dorm room. Only a handful of people could make Zoro feel like he was back in high school.

* * *

* „What are you doing, you toilet-scrape scum?!"

** "What the hell is wrong with you?! First you don't want to order and sit like a pile of shitwhile the poor sweet lady is tearing her hair for your sake. And then, on top of that, when I pull my fingers out of my ass and sacrifice myself to order for you, you're still not satified?! A little, 'oh, thank you, great Lucien, that was so cool of you', would have been nice, but noooo, you wanked right all over that…!"

A/N: One of my colleagues had some fun translating those to French for me. xD

Happy Valentine's Day, little-lost-swordsies!


End file.
